Free Full House by Jess Dee Page A

auditory hallucination, brought on by shock. And shame. And extreme pleasure.
    Really? A hallucination? Then why were Max’s jeans already halfway down his legs…correction, being kicked off?
    Why was he crossing the room, stark naked, with a massive erection?
    And why, dear God, why was Trev dropping to his knees and slowly, torturously extracting his hand from between her legs, leaving her weak-kneed and wobbly, leaning on the wall for support?
    No. No freaking way.
    This isn’t happening.
    Holy crap. It most definitely was happening.
    Trev’s mouth was closing around Max’s shaft. Max’s thick, long and hard shaft. And she should know what that shaft looked like, since she couldn’t haul her gaze away from it.
    Couldn’t draw breath as his cock disappeared, inch by inch, between Trev’s lips.
    “Trev, fuck…!” The baritone echoed through the room, lower even than the first time she’d heard it. “Christ. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
    Trev mumbled something unintelligible in response, but Max must have understood, because he answered. “Yes. Fuck, yes!”
    Max’s deep groans filled the air as Trev fed on his erection.
    Fed? He devoured it as though it were the most delicious treat in the world. And God help her, but the way Trev sucked on it, it did look delicious. Mouth-watering.
    Grace would have objected, would have stopped this outrageous act, if her jaw had not dropped so low it now chafed against the carpet.
    Wrong. This whole scene was wrong.
    Trev had a lover. A male lover. She should not be aroused by it. Not at all. Not one little bit.
    So why, why, why, why could she not tear her gaze away? Why was the sight of Trev blowing Max the single most erotic vision she’d ever seen? And why was her hand now inching its way toward her pussy? The same pussy that had just clenched in orgasm from Trev’s fingers.
    Because the amount of testosterone spilling into the air had reached dangerous levels? Maybe she was high from the fumes.
    Yep. Had to be that. She was slap bang in the middle of a biochemically induced haze. Max’s and Trev’s biochemicals.
    Uh, did humans even produce biochemicals?
    Did it matter?
    Dear Lord. Her hand was no longer creeping. It was home. Where it belonged. Or where it belonged while in the midst of a biochemically induced haze, anyway.
    “Lift your skirt.”
    The words buzzed around her head before settling into a pattern that made any sense.
    Lift her skirt? For whom? Trev, or Max? Couldn’t be Trev. His mouth was stuffed full. No way he could have spoken so clearly.
    “Let me see.”
    Voices like Max’s should be illegal. Because seriously, he could bring a woman to orgasm just by speaking. Hell, he could quote texts from the Financial News and she’d tumble through multiple orgasm heaven.
    “Higher.”
    Higher?
    “Lift your skirt higher,” Max said.
    Startled, Grace realized what she’d done. Grasped the hem of her skirt and pulled it up. Just like Max had ordered. And she’d be damned if she wasn’t edging the fabric up even farther now.
    Trev groaned, a low, sexy sound that grew louder as she pulled the skirt right up, exposing herself—and her hand—to the two men.
    “Beautiful,” Max whispered. He rocked his hips as he stared at her hand, pushing himself into Trev’s mouth.
    Trev grabbed Max’s hip, bracing himself, then opened his lips wider, allowing Max to pump into his mouth.
    Christ, this shouldn’t be a turn-on. Shouldn’t make her wet and wanton.
    It should make her run away, but it didn’t. It made her stroke her pussy and massage her clit. It made her bend her knees as her back rested against the wall, so she could touch herself more easily and open herself wider to Trev’s and Max’s hungry gazes.
    Movement caught her eye. Rapid movement. A fist, near Trev’s lap. Trev’s fist. Wrapped around his now exposed cock. Pumping himself as he feasted on Max and watched Grace. Precome oozed from the tip of his penis, glistening in the